


Water Under the Bridge

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [13]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, M/M, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis finally brings Porthos and Athos home to his family - back to the town he's left so many years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Porthos parks the big car by the side of the street, gets off the driver's seat and stretches his limbs. He groans in relief when his shoulder pops – and ignores Athos' noise of disgust the way he always does. He's too busy checking out their destination. The house is big and old, and stands a little removed from the street in the shade of an ancient oak. A stone path leads up to it, well maintained, the plate-sized stones smoothed down by rain and regular use. The garden surrounding the house appears to be immense, and Porthos would feel tempted to call it a park, if it was a little, well, _cleaner_. Not that he wants it to be clean. He likes the look of it, just the way it is, wild and overgrown, but not without order. There is a certain method to the madness here, a guiding hand that keeps nature at bay, but only just. 

As far as Porthos is concerned, it's perfect. He turns around to tell Aramis as much, but the expression on Aramis' face curbs his tongue. Aramis looks nervous, he's pale and a bit green around the gills, and Porthos steps closer to him without a second of hesitation, and puts his arms around Aramis' middle. "Breathe, darlin'," Porthos murmurs. "It's your family. They won't eat you." 

Aramis takes a deep breath and relaxes against him, and Porthos strokes his hands over his back. "That's better." 

Behind them Athos is doing his best to heave their luggage out of the trunk of their car. Porthos gives him about thirty seconds, then he intervenes, if only vocally. "Let me do that." 

Athos shoots him a baleful look. "I am not an invalid." 

"No," Porthos admits, still holding Aramis close. "You're an artist. And you got the arms to prove it." 

Athos huffs, and Aramis lets out a noise of amusement, and Porthos smiles to himself. There, that's better still. He gently lets go of Aramis to take care of their luggage, and by the time he's done and turns back around, Aramis is in the clutches of an elderly lady of ethereal beauty. Porthos generously assumes she's Aramis' mother. She's certainly hugging him quite vigorously. 

"I'm so glad you came," she murmurs into his ear, her voice surprisingly deep, even a little rough. "Your Dad will be so happy." Aramis brushes a kiss to her temple and holds her for a moment longer, and eventually she huffs, and slaps his butt. "Let me at least welcome your friends." 

He lets go of her then, raking his fingers through his hair the way he does when he's embarrassed, and she turns to smile at Porthos, holds out her hand to him. "I'm Erica; you must be Porthos." Her hair is long, and whatever its original colour once was, there's no trace of it left in the silver framing her face. She's wearing it in a loose knot, allowing two strands to fall free. He nods and smiles at her and takes her hand, and she beams up at him, frank admiration in her dark eyes. "Son, you have acquired good taste." 

Aramis makes a tiny, helpless noise, and she winks at Porthos, and lets go of his hand to welcome Athos. "I'm told you're the one who spoils him rotten – or should I say _the other one_?" 

"I am doing no such thing," Athos drawls, accompanied by one of his warmer smiles. "If he said that he is lying." 

Erica laughs at that and Porthos discovers that she laughs the same way Aramis does – she even dips her head in the same manner. Porthos likes her. 

"Come inside," Erica says, amusement still thick in her voice. "I made coffee, and Aramis' father has made cookies." 

Aramis' eyes light up at that, eager and boyish. "Flapjacks?" 

"Flapjacks," she affirms. 

Aramis basically skips up to the house. Porthos shares a look with Athos, and then they pick up their luggage, refuse to hand Aramis his share when he comes back to them in the manner of a remorseful puppy. Erica looks on with what Porthos likes to think is open approval, and urges her son to help by opening the doors for his friends. Aramis does so, and Porthos brushes a kiss to his mouth in passing, stepping over the threshold and into the house. 

It's dim and cool in the hall, pleasantly so after the heat outside, and Porthos' eyes need a moment to adjust to the light. When they do they become aware of a man who can only be Aramis' father advancing on them. He's of medium build and very wiry, and he has the kindest eyes Porthos has ever seen. He smiles at Porthos and brushes past him, brushes past Athos too, and then he's pulling Aramis into his arms, and holds him tight with his eyes closed, going limp against his son. 

"Told you," is all Erica has to say to the matter, and then she urges Athos and Porthos deeper inside the house, up a broad wooden staircase to the right of the entrance, and into two generous guest-rooms. 

Porthos grins when he sees the big double bed, and so does Erica, but sadly she doesn't wink at him this time. "Just put your bags down and come back downstairs with me," she says instead, collecting Athos from the second guestroom. "By now Tony might've even let go of his son." 

He hasn't. They're still standing in the hall, Aramis and his father, are still hugging – clinging to each other even, and Erica puts a gentle but firm hand on Porthos' elbow and leads him into the kitchen opposite the entrance hall. Athos follows them, quiet and unobtrusive, and accepts the cup of coffee Erica hands to him. 

"They were always very close," Erica explains, putting a platter of cookies on the table. "Tony didn't like it one bit when Aramis moved away." Her voice adopts a strange quality during the last two words, and she clears it, and smiles brightly. "But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have met you two, so it seems it was all for the best." 

"I should say so," Porthos agrees, looking at Athos from the corner of his eye. "We're certainly very happy to be here – thank you for inviting us." 

"Oh, but we couldn't have celebrated Tony's big birthday party without you," Erica says with a warm smile that looks just like Aramis'. Her eyes crinkle the same way at the corners, even her _nose_ looks the same. "Especially after Aramis has told us so many wonderful things about you two." She hesitates for a moment, and then she clears her throat again, looks right into Porthos' eyes. "I am so very happy that he's found you." She smiles at Athos. "Both of you." 

"So are we," Porthos says softly, and Athos inclines his head in agreement. 

"Very happy indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

Erica's coffee is very good. Porthos can tell. He can tell because Athos drinks it with obvious enjoyment, and doesn't let go of the cup even when he's not drinking. He holds it between his hands as though he wants to protect it, and when Erica asks if he wants a refill he goes so far as to raise his voice to communication levels and _speaks_ : "Yes, please." 

Porthos feels rather gratified. Athos didn't want to come, at first. He said he had no business accompanying them to a family visit, said that Aramis' parents wanted to meet their son's _boyfriend_ , not the random attachment to their bliss. Aramis was _scandalized_. 

"You are no random attachment!" he'd spluttered. "You are – you are a _deliberate necessity_ , and if you're not coming with us, we're not going at all!" 

Thus they're here; all of them. Porthos is quite grateful to Aramis for that, he knew he could count on him in this matter - as in all other matters of importance. Aramis is _fond_ of Athos. Porthos couldn't approve more if he tried. It just wouldn't have been the same, visiting Aramis' family without Athos. Because Athos is part of Porthos' family, he's his best friend, he's the most important person in Porthos' life next to Aramis, and if Aramis' parents really want to get to know him, Athos is an essential part of that. Porthos smiles and sips his coffee, and tells Erica that she has a beautiful home. 

"It's an heirloom," she says. "I'm quite glad we have it, for the rectory is rather too small for four children." 

Aramis joins them in the kitchen, his father hot on his heels, before Porthos can ask her when they're going to meet Aramis' three sisters. Tony looks very much like his son, especially around the eyes, and when Porthos gets up to shake his hand he grins. "Picked a tall one, did you, Aramis." 

Aramis blushes adorably. Tony chuckles, greets Athos as well, and brings forth a very large cookie box. "I hope you found your way here without encountering any trouble?" 

"It's fine weather for driving," Porthos says and sits back down. "And drivin' the car Athos got us is like navigatin' a very comfortable tank." 

"You explicitly asked for a safe vehicle," Athos drawls. 

Aramis, in the process of stuffing his face with cookies, looks from one to the other, his eyes alight with laughter. They've had this discussion on the road already. Several times. 

"I did," Porthos admits, like he did before. "I still think you could've gotten us somethin' from this century." 

"Next time be more specific," Athos suggests serenely, and asks Erica for more coffee. 

She gratifies his wish, and he thanks her, and Tony looks from Porthos to Athos and back again, visibly interested. 

"So, just to be clear," he says. "I know you've told us before, Aramis, but I want to get my basics right: Porthos is your boyfriend, and Athos is – is his best friend since childhood, and you're all living together -" 

"In my apartment," Athos finishes for him. "Yes, that is correct." 

He looks a little stiff suddenly, so Porthos reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, earns himself a grateful smile. Tony smiles as well. "That does sound like a very good arrangement." 

Just like that the tension bleeds out of Athos, and he relaxes. Porthos wants to smack him upside the head – lovingly of course. As of late Athos has started acting twitchy whenever their living arrangement became the focus of discussion. As if anyone suspected them of having secret orgies. If Porthos was having orgies, they wouldn't be secret, that much is certain. 

"Aramis said you're both very good nurses," Tony says by way of keeping the ball rolling, distracting Porthos from that line of thought. 

Athos flushes a very pale shade of pink. Porthos cannot for the life of him remember if his friend's equilibrium has always been this easy to shake. 

"Ah, no," he hears him say. "That I am not. I merely followed the instructions I found online." 

"He was perfect," Aramis corrects him, matter-of-factly. "He even came and got me from work with his mother's chauffeur when Constance called him." 

"Impressive," Erica says, hiding a grin in the corners of her mouth. Porthos really likes her. 

"It was no such thing," Athos insists, and Tony laughs, looks just like Aramis for a moment. 

"He doesn't like to be complimented?" he asks Porthos, and Porthos nods, shrugs his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. 

"He's difficult like that. You get used to it." 

"I am sure," Tony agrees, and watches Aramis eat another cookie. "Would you consider it childish if I made mac and cheese for dinner?" 

Aramis looks as if he's on the brink of a happy aneurysm. 

"I don't think he minds," Porthos says softly, concluding that Tony has decided to spoil his son rotten now that he's got him back. It makes him wonder what precisely happened to drive Aramis from his home town. His parents had clearly nothing to do with it – they are welcoming and loving and Aramis is visibly at ease around them. So they can't be the cause for Aramis getting more and more quiet the closer they came to town. They are not the source of his nervousness, they aren't to blame for the fear in his eyes when he got out of the car. Inside this house Aramis is happy. 

Granted, this is a small town, with a tight-knit community, and it may be that Aramis drew a little too much attention to himself, being the pastor's son. Porthos remembers all too well what Aramis told him about his previous relationships. It's certainly an unfortunate combination: being associated with the church in this manner while being young and curious and more than a little horny. Porthos can only imagine that that might have been difficult. Maybe he should have asked Aramis what precisely happened here. Maybe it was stupid of him to wait for Aramis to tell him.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis' sisters are problematic. Porthos wants to take them home. _All of them._ Spouses and kids and everything if necessary. 

Melinda, the oldest of the three, is about two heads smaller than her brother, has a giant of a husband to make up for it, and four children from six to sixteen. She has three girls and one boy – the youngest, just like Aramis – and looks like a smaller, rounder version of her mother, with blond hair instead of silver. She's outspoken and sarcastic, and Aramis has already warned Porthos to stay away from her when she's drunk. Apparently she gets rather creative in her verbal abuse when inebriated. 

Why Aramis thinks Melinda would feel the need to hurl verbal abuse at him, sober or drunk, is beyond Porthos. They get along like a house on fire, mostly because she insists on calling Aramis _muffin head_ in a tone somewhere between teasing and fond. Porthos can get behind that. She was the first to arrive at her parents' house, barged into the kitchen an hour after they themselves had arrived, and dragged Aramis into a somewhat restrictive embrace. 

"You've gotten _taller_ ," she'd said in an accusing voice, and Aramis had submitted to her hug and folded himself around her. 

"You've gotten rounder." He fully deserved the slap that earned him, Porthos is still standing fast by that opinion. Her children are well-mannered and lively, her husband is a gentle giant who visibly adores her, and welcomed Porthos and Athos into the family with a hug and a surprisingly shy grin. 

The next to arrive was Giselle, bearing no optical resemblance to anyone in the family with her freckles and snub nose, and a vastly modish pair of glasses. She's quiet and reserved and while she doesn't _drawl_ , she manages to pepper her sparse conversation with so much sarcasm that Porthos doesn't wonder at it when he looks around in the big family living room and finds her sitting next to Athos, talking quietly, drinking coffee. 

Giselle came alone, is neither married nor in any kind of relationship, but she said that if she'd known that best friends were invited as well she'd have brought her flatmate along. Apparently her flatmate's name is Ricardo, and he's a fire fighter. Porthos would have liked to meet him. 

The last to arrive, apparently, is Hannah. She's the only daughter not living in town but a one-hour drive away. In Erica's opinion no reason to be this late. But whatever Erica's feelings may be, Hannah's not there yet. She has missed coffee – or at least anything in the vicinity of official coffee time. Erica is looking increasingly annoyed the later it gets, while Tony seems to be of the opinion that it would be a waste of his time to allow negative emotions into his heart while three of his four children are present. 

He smiles whenever his eyes alight on Aramis. Porthos is starting to become helplessly fond of the man. He smiles when Tony joins him on the sofa, gratefully accepts an offer of more cake, and isn't surprised in the least when Tony leans in, his tone confiding. "You're my favourite." 

Porthos grins. "Thank you." 

Tony lifts both brows at him. "What, you're going to accept that without even knowing who the competition is?" 

Porthos grins a little wider. "Well, since Giselle came alone and Luke seems to be a really great guy, I can't see how you'd like me better than him, so I guess you mean I'm your favourite out of the ones Aramis has been with so far, yeah?" 

"Tall _and_ smart," Tony says appreciatively. "Aramis really did choose well." He turns serious suddenly. "Thank you for bringing him home." 

Porthos finds himself at a loss of what to say. "I didn't do any such thing," he offers eventually. "He would've come with or without Athos 'n me, I'm sure." 

Tony shakes his head, a sad expression around his eyes. "No. He wouldn't have." 

Before Porthos can ask him what precisely he means by this, Hannah finally arrives. She's flushed and out of breath, and throws herself into her mother's arms, begging for forgiveness. "The car broke down on me," she wails. "And the phone was dead, so I couldn't even call to let you know – thank _God_ that trucker stopped to help me, or I would still be stranded halfway between – Oh Dad, I'm so sorry!" She releases her mother from her arms and rushes over to the sofa, gives her father a firm hug. "I hope you didn't worry?" 

"Of course not," he assures her. "You're never on time, after all." 

She twinkles at him, plants a kiss on his cheek, and turns a little, waving into the room. "Hello, family." Then she realises Aramis is there, and pounces. "So you _did_ come!" she says, bliss and surprise fighting for dominance in her voice. "Oh, munchkin, I'm so glad to see you!" 

She kisses both his cheeks before pulling him into a hug, and Aramis grins happily, puts his arms around her and tugs his chin over her shoulder. "You didn't bring Eva?" he asks. "Or did you leave her by the side of the road when the car broke down?" 

"Don't talk to me about Eva!" she says, suddenly annoyed. "I'm done with her! But let's not talk about my lost love, let's talk about your -" She lets go of him to look around, and her eyes meet Porthos'. "Dang it, I've lost that bet!" 

"Yes," Melinda agrees. "You owe me five bucks. Luke is still the tallest." 

"I'm very disappointed in you," Hannah says, advancing on Porthos. "You've really let me down here." 

He shrugs helplessly and offers her a hug. "I can bake?" 

"You're forgiven," she says promptly, and gives him a very nice welcoming hug. 

"Hannah," Aramis says, when she parts from Porthos. "I want to introduce you to Athos." 

She lifts her expressive brows and turns around, tilts her head in confusion. "So there really is an Athos?" 

Aramis stares at her. "Why wouldn't there be?" 

"Well, whenever we skyped he was never there!" she exclaims. "Always just gone out of the room, or refusing to say hi, or some such thing! I thought you were pulling my leg – that you'd made him up!" 

"Oh, I am real," Athos drawls at that point and steps forward. "I hope you do not mind." 

She stares at him and looks him over, and then she grins, rather wickedly. "I do not mind at all." 

Aramis clears his throat. "Hannah. Please. Remember Eva." 

She pouts at him. "But I don't want to." 

Melinda pulls her away at that point, desiring clarification on the subject of Eva, and Porthos grins at Aramis, who is slightly flushed and brimming over with joy. "Glad you're back, eh?" 

"I missed them," Aramis admits and allows his eyes to travel over the room and the gathered members of his family. 

"Only natural," Athos drawls, just loud enough for Aramis and Porthos to hear. "They are great people. All of them." 

"Even Bianca?" Aramis teases him, and Athos rolls his eyes a bit. 

"She is sixteen. I imagine she will grow out of the need to share her displeasure with being forced to attend a family gathering _without her boyfriend_ soon enough." 

"What did that unfortunate young man _do_ to be excluded?" Porthos asks. "I don't think she ever told me." 

"He is in Norway," Athos states dryly. " _Hiking_. As far as I am concerned, she is better off without him." 

"I expect you told her as much?" Aramis asks, holding back laughter. 

"Of course I did," Athos says serenely.


	4. Chapter 4

It's the middle of the night, and Porthos can't sleep. He can't sleep because Aramis can't sleep either, and is exuding a cloud of such nervous energy that it can be only a matter of minutes until there's actual lightning above the bed. So far Porthos has kept quiet, and waited. It seems to be his policy, with Aramis, although he's come to regret it lately. 

Aramis is just as bad as Athos where talking about his feelings and fears – especially the fears – is concerned, and waiting and keeping quiet don't seem to do him much good. It's just that Aramis can be such a frightful, nervous bunny when pushed, so Porthos has done his damnable best to do no such thing. He turns on his side on the big, comfortable mattress, turns towards Aramis and looks at his face. Aramis' eyes are closed, and his breathing goes regularly, but Porthos _knows_ that he's awake. Aramis is frowning, ever so slightly, has curled in on himself instead of spreading out over Porthos the way he usually does. 

Porthos doesn't like it. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" he asks. His volume is low in deference to the time, but his voice is gruff nevertheless. "Because I don't think I'll be able to sleep like this." 

Aramis' eyes open at once. He looks guilty and exhausted, and Porthos pulls him into his arms. "What's goin' on with you, darlin'? You remind me of a caged fox." That makes Aramis smile, but it's a weak little thing, and Porthos gives him a heartening squeeze. "Talk to me, please." 

A moment of silence follows, and then Aramis pushes deeper into Porthos' arms, presses his face into the crook of his neck. "The party is tomorrow." 

Porthos waits for more, but it doesn't come, and he stares up at the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling, high and inlaid with polished dark wood, but that doesn't help him at the moment. He feels like he's groping around in the dark with Aramis, and it's not the nice, sexy kind of groping either. It feels uncomfortable and strained, full of unexpected chasms to fall into, and Porthos would really like a flashlight to clear matters up. 

It seems he has to make do with a torch though, or build that damn flashlight himself. "I think it's gonna be a nice party," he ventures carefully. "Your family is lovely – they're gonna turn it into something special." 

"Oh, it's going to be special alright," Aramis mutters, his tone so bitter that it makes Porthos feel queasy. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"The whole town is going to be here," Aramis explains. "It's Dad's last year in orders, he's going to retire soon, and … and they'll want to make sure to give him a proper send-off." 

"But isn't that nice of them?" Porthos asks, mystified by the tense aspect to Aramis' words. "Seems to me that your Dad is mighty respected in this town." 

"He is," Aramis agrees softly. "Even I couldn't ruin that." 

Porthos frowns. "Aramis -" 

"I told you," Aramis interrupts him urgently. "I _told_ you what I did!" 

"You told me you had _sex_ ," Porthos replies, completely bewildered. "I don't understand how -" He stops himself. Aramis is clinging to him with desperate force, and Porthos strokes his hands over Aramis' back, makes soothing noises and brushes a kiss to his ear. "Calm down, kitten. It's all good, I promise." 

Aramis lets out a laugh that's a little bit too far on the hysterical side, and Porthos feels so utterly protective of him that it makes him feel a bit sick. "You want me to take you home? I can do that, you know." 

Aramis lifts his head at that, and his eyes look like black velvet in the darkness. "I can't do that to my father." 

"I really like your Dad," Porthos says gently. "But I like you more. So if you wanna go home, we're goin' home." 

That gets a real smile out of Aramis, and earns Porthos a kiss. "I _am_ home," he whispers, when he pulls back. "I've missed them so much, Porthos." 

"I know you have," Porthos murmurs. He cups Aramis' cheek, rubs his thumb over his stubble. "That's why I don't understand -" 

"I was the preacher's kid," Aramis interrupts him, his voice rather too cold. "I was the youngest, I was his only son, and I grew up believing that being the centre of attention was not only normal but _wonderful_." 

There's an uncomfortable pause. 

"It's not that wonderful anymore, when you steal your sister's boyfriend." 

Another pause follows, while Porthos digests this. 

"Well," he says eventually, "you were very young." 

"I was," Aramis agrees. "I was very young, I had by that time been with pretty much all of my sister's friends, and the town was convinced that I was beyond redemption." He closes his eyes. "I'd soiled their favourite son, you see." 

Porthos frowns. "Who was much older than you, I assume?" 

"Yes," Aramis admits. "But he was so -" he stops, and swallows. "I couldn't – when he kissed me -" 

"So it was in fact he who came on to you," Porthos concludes. "I thought as much." 

Aramis blinks at him. "I'm not trying to defend myself." 

"Well, I am!" Porthos growls. "Someone has to." He pulls his arms tighter around Aramis. "Tell me what happened." 

Aramis does. It's a convoluted story, telling Porthos much more than Aramis intends. There's a lot to gain from reading between the lines, and Porthos is very good at that – has to be, after years of conflicting reports from his youthful charges. Aramis' report leaves Porthos with a burning hatred for that favourite son who not only got Aramis drunk before seducing him, but followed that up by laying all the blame on a sixteen year-old boy who was so emotionally fragile that it _broke_ him to be turned into the town's black sheep. 

It's no wonder at all that Aramis left his home and never came back after that. The psychological pressure must have been immense. It's no wonder either that Aramis turned out the way he did – so careful not to incur censure, so afraid of his own sexuality. 

"It wasn't your fault," Porthos tells Aramis, his voice gentle. 

Aramis sighs, exhausted and sad. "You weren't there." 

"I wasn't," Porthos agrees. "But I'm here now, and if anyone looks at you funny tomorrow, I'm gonna give them a piece of my mind." 

Aramis brings some distance between them, looks into Porthos' eyes. "You would do that?" 

"Of course I would! What, you think I'd let them bully you?" Indignation makes Porthos' voice rise, and he struggles with himself for a moment, takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna _show_ them," he promises darkly. 

"Just don't hit anyone," Aramis murmurs with a soft little smile. He looks much better, suddenly; the strain around his eyes has lessened, and the way he looks at Porthos speaks of helpless gratitude. "You're far too good to me." 

"Nonsense," Porthos grunts, rolls on his back and pulls Aramis on top of him. "A fine boyfriend would I be if I didn't treat you properly!"


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning comes with sunshine and unnaturally loud birds. Porthos has never been in a small town like this, and he would swear an oath on Athos' coffee can that the birds in the city aren't nearly this rambunctious. They annoy him into opening his eyes far sooner than he otherwise would, but when those eyes alight on Aramis, still happily asleep and drooling on his chest, Porthos' annoyance vanishes like mist in the sun. 

He grins, more inward than outward, the left corner of his mouth slightly lifted, and frees one of his hands from under the blanket, strokes an errant lock of Aramis' hair behind his ear. Whatever Aramis' fears have been last night, now he looks relaxed, even happy. Porthos knows him for long enough to comprehend that Aramis only looks happy in his sleep when he is – that his daily troubles tend to follow him into his dreams and make him frown in his sleep more often than not. 

He drops a kiss on Aramis' brow, relief and worry mingling in his chest. His experience with small-town memory is limited, not to say non-existent. He has no idea how Aramis' welcome today will be – how many whispers he'll have to endure, how many sly glances. Porthos is of course more than ready to hit any and all wrong-doers on the nose for their crimes, but he doesn't think that Aramis – not to speak of the rest of this family – would welcome such heroics. So Porthos decides to behave himself as best he can, and help Aramis – should the need arise – in some other way. 

Aramis chooses that moment to stir, stretches out next to Porthos and nuzzles his chest in a highly distracting manner. Porthos looks down at him with a fond grin, and dips his head for a kiss as soon as Aramis opens his eyes. He loves these early morning kisses, when Aramis is too drowsy to get embarrassed or nervous – when he just kisses him back, relaxed and greedy. Because Aramis _is_ greedy, no matter how hard he tries to hide it – he's passionate and sensitive, reacts beautifully to the lightest touch. He's a joy to be intimate with, and as soon as he realises that Porthos will never scorn him for his enjoyment of sex, their sex-life is going to be _fabulous_. 

For the moment Porthos draws back, and levels a dazzling smile at his beloved. "Ready to face the fun?" 

In lieu of an answer Aramis steals another kiss from him, and Porthos does what he always does when Aramis turns unbearably sweet – he squeezes him half to death. Aramis wheezes and slaps his hip, and Porthos lets go of him with an appreciative chuckle. "You wanna hit the shower first?" 

Apparently Aramis is having a _very_ brave morning. "I want you to join me," he says. 

 

  
When they go down to the kitchen twenty minutes later, Melinda is already there. 

"You really should do something about that internal clock of yours," Aramis says when he sees her grumpy morning face. "Nobody forces you to get up so early, you know." 

"You give birth to four children and try to be a late riser," she grumps at him, but graciously offers her cheek for a good-morning kiss nevertheless. 

"I don't think I'm going to try _that_ ," Aramis murmurs, looking around for a clean cup. Since he paid attention on the previous day Porthos is able to hand him one, and when he sees that the coffee Melinda made is almost gone, he makes a fresh can too. 

She grins at him. "You already feel at home here, yes?" 

He shrugs. "Difficult not to." 

Their interaction makes Aramis smile, and he shimmies up to Porthos, lifts his head for a quick kiss. Porthos gratifies him, and Melinda sighs, obviously enjoying the show. "You look really good together," she informs them. "Not as ridiculous as Luke and me." 

"You and your husband look perfect together," Porthos tells her, getting a delighted laugh out of her, but no further comment. 

"So, should Porthos and I go out to get fresh rolls, or what's the plan?" Aramis inquires after a moment of silence, and his sister informs him that she sent her husband on that errand, as well as her last-born. 

"Because if I have to endure his chirpiness so early in the morning I experience strong tendencies to strangle him." 

Aramis grins at her. "He's cute." 

"So were you when you were six, and I still wanted to murder you five days out of seven." 

Athos joins them at that point, freshly showered, his hair still a bit wet. "We're discussing murder?" 

"Always," Melinda tells him, and watches in silence as Porthos supplies his friend with coffee. "So you're the provider in this relationship, eh? I should've known." Porthos shoots her a quick look of inquiry, but it seems that she has nothing more to say on the matter. Instead she gets up and starts to set the table, not at all surprised when Porthos moves to help her. "You know you're the guest of honour here, right?" she murmurs when he's close enough for whispering. "You don't have to try quite so hard." 

Porthos winks at her. "I'm not tryin' anythin', don't you worry – I'm not on my best behavior here." 

"You're not?" she exclaims. "Good gracious me, don't tell me this is _normal_ for you!" 

"Entirely," Athos drawls from his place by the kitchen counter, where he's leaning right next to Aramis, observing their progress. "He's an overbearing, over-protective, over-provident teddy bear." 

Aramis glares at him, much to Porthos' gratification. "You take that back immediately!" 

Athos raises his brows at him. "I'm not saying that I don't _like_ it." 

That throws Aramis into some confusion, and his sister laughs at him, fond and delighted. "I wish you could see your _face_ , muffin head!" 

Luke chooses this moment to return to the house, his son hot on his heels. "Momma, Momma, we bought _bunny-rolls_!" he proclaims, scrambling into her lap. "They have ears and everything!" He seems to become aware of the other people in the kitchen then, and blushes, suddenly shy. 

Porthos didn't quite manage to get through his defences on the previous evening, since his attentions were rather divided. But now he smiles at the boy, and informs him that bunny-rolls may be fine and all, but not as amazing as rolls in the shape of a lion. 

"And don't forget your dragons," Athos reminds him. "I'm quite fond of those." 

Just like that, they're Timothy's favourite uncles. 

"He's going to cling to your hip for the rest of the day," Melinda informs Porthos, sounding everything but put out about it. 

"Eh, I don't mind," Porthos says, "I work with kids, I'm used to it." 

"You know what," Melinda replies, suddenly narrowing her eyes at him. "You're disgustingly perfect. I'm not sure I like it." 

"You're not the one who's supposed to," Aramis informs her loftily.


	6. Chapter 6

"You could've mentioned that this would turn into a street festival," Porthos murmurs into Aramis' ear, squinting against the sunlight. "I'd've brought my juggling balls." 

Aramis levels a gaze of boyish amazement at him. "You juggle?" 

"He is horrible at it," is Athos' comment from the side-lines. "He keeps dropping the balls on the children." 

"On purpose, obviously," Porthos claims. 

Athos snorts. They're standing outside the house on the big terrace, watching the birthday crowd take over the garden. It's a little bit like watching the progress of an especially determined ant-colony. Possibly a stoned one. There are tents, a magnificent buffet, a bouncy castle, balloons – even a DJ – and everything's increasingly wreathed in paper garlands, even the trees. It seems the town has spared no expense to turn Tony's last birthday in orders into something special, and the people are so preoccupied with their preparations and arrangements that nobody pays the least attention to Aramis and his entourage. At least so far. 

Eventually a very forbidding looking old lady glares at Aramis over the rim of her glasses, stops what she's doing – which is cutting a cheesecake into enormous helpings – and marches over to them in a manner highly suggestive of warfare. 

"Oh crap," Aramis whispers, and turns as white as a sheet. "Mrs Darling." 

"She doesn't look like a darling," Porthos whispers back, duly alarmed. Athos remains silent. 

"Aramis, is that you?" Mrs Darling demands once she's in shouting range, causing several heads to turn in their direction, and thus Aramis to flinch. 

"Yes, Ma'am," Aramis gets out, his voice hoarse and a little too close to panicky. "What a splendid party you've arranged for my -" 

She doesn't let him finish, but pulls him down into a hug, gives him a good squeeze. "You might've come and said hello, you foolish boy," she tells him in a surprisingly soft voice. "Did you think I'd bite your head off?" 

"The thought has crossed my mind," Aramis whispers back, going limp against her frail frame. 

She's a very old lady, Porthos realizes, well into her eighties. She smiles and lets go of Aramis, reaches up to pat his cheek. "I never believed that outrageous story, and it doesn't matter that he's my grandson – I've known the spoiled brat long enough." Porthos' eyes widen and he stays carefully quiet, even when her attention moves over to him. "And who's this?" 

"This is Porthos," Aramis says in a weak voice. 

"Your boyfriend?" 

"… Yes." 

"Hmpf," she says, and looks Porthos over. "Is he mute?" 

"I didn't know I was allowed to speak," Porthos offers at that point, and she grins, evidently pleased by his nerve. 

"Good voice," she decides, looks him over once more. "Good bottom, too." Porthos grins while Aramis blushes furiously, and she clears her throat. "That means he doesn't lack spunk." Aramis makes a helpless noise and she rolls her eyes at him. "Please don't be silly." 

"I think Mrs Darling is complimenting Porthos on his strength of character," Athos drawls at that point. "Nothing more and nothing less, Aramis." 

"That's precisely what I'm doing," she agrees, visibly satisfied. "Who're you?" 

"Athos," Athos says, rising to the occasion. "I am a friend of Aramis and Porthos' and very pleased to make your acquaintance." 

At this point Porthos wouldn't be surprised if Athos raised the old lady's hand to his lips, but he merely shakes it – albeit gently. She looks pleased. "You brought two good ones," she tells Aramis, poking her finger into his chest. "And I'm very glad you finally came home. It was time." She hesitates for a moment, frowning ever so slightly. "Couldn't've been easy for you." 

She takes Aramis' hand into hers then, and holds it for a moment. "Now you listen to me, Aramis: today's going to be a bit rough, that's as clear as a pikestaff. Andy's still sticking to his fairy tale story, and a few people are stupid enough to believe him – but not as many as used to be." She sighs and shakes her head, and offers Aramis a soothing smile. "But you brought your friends with you, and your family will always stand behind you – you know that. You should've been there when Melinda kicked him in the balls; he squealed like a little piggy … not that he deserved anything less, doing that to her – and to you." 

With that she draws Aramis in again, plants a kiss on his cheek and returns to her cheesecake, leaving Aramis standing rooted to the ground, bearing interesting resemblance to a particularly fine Greek statue. 

"That was immensely edifying," Athos drawls after a moment of silence. "Does anyone care to explain to me the significance of Andy and his fairy tale story, or should I just guess?" The question causes Aramis to flush and turn pale in rapid succession, and Athos to clear his throat in a somewhat guilty manner. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Aramis." 

Porthos looks from one to the other and doesn't offer a single word. 

"You do not have to tell me anything you don't want to," Athos says then, his voice so gentle that Aramis flushes again. 

"I want to tell you," he admits, his voice a helpless whisper, "I just don't know -" He stops, takes a deep breath, and groans. "I need a beer!" he decides, and Porthos grabs his wrist when he turns to walk into the house. 

"Let me get it," he says. "You stay with Athos." Aramis looks up at him, quickly and somewhat frightened, and Porthos leans in for a kiss, holds Aramis close to him until his breathing has calmed down. "No need for worries," Porthos reminds him quietly. "He's gonna protect you just as fiercely as I would, you know." He gently lets go of Aramis to level a smile at Athos. "Won't you?" 

"I brought the cleaver," Athos replies serenely. "It is hidden under the back of my shirt, and I shall make good use of it." 

It doesn't surprise Porthos very much when Aramis shows strong tendencies to make a grab for Athos' hand right then and there.


	7. Chapter 7

Athos remains remarkably calm. Porthos is surprised. From what he knows of his friend he'd expected sparkling eyes of wrath, maybe even a few well-chosen curses. Athos offers them neither. He listens to Aramis with a grave expression, squeezes Aramis' shoulder once the story is told, and then looks around the assembled company. "Is he here?" 

"No," Aramis breathes out, clutching his beer bottle a little too hard. "Thank goodness." 

Thank goodness indeed, Porthos thinks, because in that question was all the wrath previously missing – all the menacing violence Athos keeps hidden so very carefully. Now, Porthos himself has fantasized more than once about what he would do to that precious Andy should he dare to show his face at the party – Athos wouldn't stop at fantasizing. Athos wouldn't even stop to introduce himself. But Andy isn't here, and thus there's no reason for Porthos to be worried. 

Some of the party guests look at Aramis with marked scorn, that much is true, but none of them dare to come forward and actually _say_ anything, so Aramis manages to remain in reasonably good spirits. He stays close to Athos and Porthos, stays close to the house and thus to his family, and there can be no question that telling his story to Athos has done him a world of good. He looks relieved, there's colour in his cheeks, his smiles are anything but fake, and when lunch time comes, and with it his aunts (plus spouses and children) and his dragon of a grandmother, he seems to lose all remaining trepidation. 

Nothing bad is going to happen. He's going to be alright. He introduces Athos and Porthos to the newly arrived family, gets scolded for keeping away for too long, gets kissed and teased and _spoiled_. Porthos loves to see it. He starts to mingle a little – leaves Aramis in the shelter of his family and braves the curiosity of the assembled party. Most people are kind and friendly, with the obvious exception of those who look at Aramis with contempt, and those Porthos knows how to handle. He can be charming, if he wants to, can be menacing beneath that charm if needed. 

So he manages, in his own way, to convey the message that he won't have Aramis bullied, that their relationship is a lasting one, that there's no ground for gabble mongers and fibbers to plough in. He returns to Aramis eventually, finds him a little tipsy but otherwise no worse for the wear. Aramis snuggles up to him right away, demands to be kissed, and whispers a fervent "Thank you" into Porthos' ear once they've parted. 

"For what?" Porthos asks softly, brushing the hair behind Aramis' ear. 

"For bringing me home," Aramis replies, just as softly, and looks up to Porthos with something far too close to worship in his eyes. 

Porthos has no idea what to say to that, so he leans in again, gives Aramis another kiss. Aramis sighs and presses closer, eyes shut and body relaxed, making Porthos feel so protective of him that it very nearly hurts. 

"Is he okay?" Athos suddenly asks from behind his right shoulder, obviously no longer trapped in conversation with one of Aramis' formidable aunts. 

"I'm glorious," Aramis proclaims from the depths of Porthos' embrace, and opens one eye to smile at Athos. He follows his first impulse, breaks out of Porthos' arms to throw his own around Athos, giving him the mother of all hugs. 

"What is this for?" Athos demands softly, making no attempt whatsoever to free himself. 

"I'm just so grateful," Aramis murmurs into his chest, rubbing his cheek over Athos' soft old shirt. "I didn't think I could come home like this." 

Athos' face twitches into an expression of such fond affection that Porthos feels severely tempted to kiss them both – even when Athos regains control over his features and merely looks vaguely pleased. 

"You think this is of our doing?" Athos asks, lifting his hand to comb it through Aramis' hair, while Porthos looks on with decided approval. 

"Of course it is," Aramis murmurs, sounding not only tipsy, but rather sleepy as well. It's no wonder after the day he's had, getting up as early as they did, and with dusk fast approaching. The braziers all around the garden have already been lit, and most families with very young children have gone home by now. Timothy has the bouncy castle almost to himself. 

"I see you haven't changed at all." The voice sounds smooth, and somewhat smug, and when Porthos turns his head he sees a tall blond man, even-featured and handsome, with very blue eyes. "Brought two lovers to your father's party, did you Aramis?" The man pouts a little, shakes his head in feigned chagrin. "I'm almost tempted to admire your gall." 

Porthos doesn't need to look at Aramis to see that he has stiffened considerably, doesn't need to hear the man's name pronounced to know who he is. For a moment he's so angry that he doesn't know what to say – can only ball his hands into fists and try to keep himself in check. 

"I am almost tempted to admire yours," Athos says then, his voice so cold that it raises the hairs at the back of Porthos' neck. "How dare you come here?" 

Andy raises his brows in surprise. He obviously didn't expect any opposition from this quarter. "Now what is this, Aramis?" he asks after a moment of silence, his voice deceptively soft. "Have you been telling stories?" 

Porthos wants to hit him. Aramis has folded in on himself, is trying to hide in Athos' arms, looks so helpless and afraid that it tears at Porthos' heart. "Leave him alone," he growls, aching to hit that smug visage, to break the hands that caused Aramis so much pain, and bloody the mouth that told so many lies. 

"Ah, you won't start a fight at Tony's birthday party, now will you?" Andy mocks with a self-satisfied smile. "Just think of the fresh scandal that would bring about." 

"If you do not leave right this minute," comes Tony's voice from behind Porthos' left shoulder, "I will give both these young men permission to kick the piss out of you." 

Aramis' head snaps up at that, and he stares at his father with obvious astonishment. "Dad?" 

Tony looks livid – there's no trace of the mild-mannered pastor in the face that's looking at Andy, no hint of forgiveness. "You come here," Tony hisses, "daring to approach my son again after what you did to him? You dare to come to my home after all these years, after all the lies you told, and expect me to remain silent?" 

Andy opens his mouth, possibly to explain himself, but Tony doesn't allow him to get out one single word. 

"It was out of respect to your grandmother that I haven't called you what you are so far – at least not in public – but you better believe me when I say that my self-control does not extend to _this_ and my own home. You are a liar and a cheat, you abused my son and cheated on my daughter, and the only thing I'm grateful for is that your deed spared me the pain of calling you my son in law. Get off my property right this minute!" 

Tony is shaking with anger, his voice has risen considerably with every word, and the last ones were audible to pretty much every human being attending the party. People are staring, some whispering to each other, some frozen in astonishment. 

Porthos doesn't wonder at it when Andy turns tail and flees. Aramis is staring at his father, just like everyone else is, still in Athos' arms, clinging to him with childlike helplessness. "Dad?" he whispers again, and when Tony turns his head and looks at him, Aramis trembles. "Why did you do that?" 

"Because it needed to be done," Tony says calmly. "Come here." 

He takes Aramis off Athos' hands, pulls him into his arms and holds him tight, and strokes his hand over Aramis' head when he starts to cry. "Oh hush, Aramis. It wasn't all that bad." 

The rest of the family comes up then, Aramis' mother and his sisters, and they bring him inside the house, all of them, while Tony stays behind, begging Mrs Darling's pardon for creating such a scene. 

"Oh, don't you talk such rubbish, dear," she asks him in her brisk, honest way. "You were marvellous." 

Porthos shares a glance with Athos, and then they follow the family into the house.


	8. Chapter 8

The family has transferred Aramis into the kitchen, and while his eyes aren't precisely dry, he's no longer crying. He's flushed and over-exited, and Erica immediately makes room for Porthos when he steps up to them, allows him to take Aramis into his arms. 

"Your Dad is amazing," Porthos whispers into Aramis' ear – isn't surprised when Aramis clings to him and claws both hands into the back of his shirt. 

"People will talk," Aramis gets out – loads the words with an ominous fear that implies that he struggles to imagine anything worse. 

"But their talk will be closer to the truth this time," Athos argues quietly, his voice as soothing as it is gentle. "I do not think Andy is still the favourite son he used to be when -" he stops, clears his throat, "... when it happened." 

"He's not," Melinda confirms flatly. "Not by a long shot. His habit of cheating on his wife with men has dimmed his reputation years ago." She moves closer to Aramis and Porthos, strokes her hand over Aramis' head. "I told you that everyone who matters has realized the truth by now." 

Porthos can only gaze down at her and wonder how it felt – to find out that her fiancé had seduced her younger brother, that the man she intended to marry was not who she thought he was. But when she turns her head and looks out into the garden and at Luke Porthos realizes that she regrets the past only for Aramis' sake. 

"Scotch," Erica decides at that point, and leaves the kitchen in the direction of the living room. 

"But you know he can't hold his liquor!" Hannah calls after her. 

"He's a happy drunk," Giselle argues. 

Apparently that's what Erica cares about. She comes back with a generously filled tumbler, presses the glass into Aramis' hand, and orders him to drink. "It will make you feel better," she promises. 

Aramis pours the scotch down his throat, coughs, and relaxes back into Porthos' arms. "Thanks, Mom." 

She smiles, and brushes a kiss to his forehead. "Everybody out!" she orders then. "We have guests to entertain. Leave it to Porthos and Athos to take care of Aramis." 

Porthos watches them leave the kitchen and go back out into the garden, and encounters a conspiratorial smile from Hannah. He winks at her; she grins and suggests that he should take Aramis upstairs and to bed. "After that glass of scotch he's going to be pretty much useless anyway." 

"She's lyin'!" Aramis promptly slurs into Porthos' chest. "I'm not drunk!" 

"Not drunk at all," Athos confirms softly. "You are merely tired, we know." 

Aramis lifts his head to smile at him with all the unbridled sweetness of intoxication. "Yes." 

Porthos and Athos share a look. "Up to bed with you then," Porthos suggests, his voice low – not precisely seductive, but warm enough to make Aramis squirm a little bit closer. 

"Yes, I would like that." 

Porthos grins at him. "Knew you would." 

He gets the same sweet smile Athos got, but then Aramis' brow clouds with sudden doubt. "What about Athos?" 

"I am perfectly capable of sleeping by myself," Athos reminds him gently. 

Aramis pouts. "But I don't want that." 

Porthos and Athos share another look. "Then I shall accompany you," Athos decides briskly. "I am sure Porthos won't mind." 

"Of course not," Porthos grunts, and turns Aramis around in his arms so he can walk him into the hall and up the wooden stairs to their guest room. Athos follows, quiet and calm, changes into his pyjamas in his own room, and then joins them in theirs. Aramis' eyes light up when he sees him, and he doesn't notice Athos' expression when it dawns on him that neither Aramis nor Porthos brought proper sleeping attire with them. Aramis is down to his boxers, while Porthos at least put on pyjama bottoms, but that's it. 

"You want me to put a shirt on?" Porthos asks him softly, and the eyes that flicker up to his face at the question look rather startled before Athos gets a grip on himself. 

"That won't be necessary." 

Porthos is somewhat doubtful about the truth of that statement, but he doesn't question it. He asks Aramis to lie in the middle of the bed, and once Aramis has managed to traverse the expanses of the mattress, Porthos lies down at his left. 

"Well?" he asks, when Athos shows no intention to join them, but instead remains at the foot of the bed with a curious expression on his face. Athos doesn't react right away. Only when Aramis lifts his head and starts to _pout_ does he finally move. 

"I like this," Aramis proclaims once he has Athos in his clutches, confirming Porthos' belief that he loses most of his inhibition after half a bottle of beer, and the rest of it after a generous helping of scotch. "I missed it." 

Athos flushes noticeably. "You did?" 

Porthos turns his face into the pillow to hide a snicker. 

"Of course," Aramis murmurs, abusing Athos' chest for his own pillow. "I'm always worried that you won't tell us when you need cuddles." 

He gives Athos a good firm squeeze to emphasize his point, and Porthos lifts his head out of his cushion to grin at his friend. "You hear that? The kitten is worried about you." 

Athos glares at him, and Porthos winks back. There's a bout of silence. Then Aramis takes a shuddering breath. "I can't believe Dad did this." 

He sounds painfully sober all of a sudden, and Porthos presses closer to him from behind, puts his arm around Aramis' middle and strokes his belly. "Andy deserved it." 

"But it was my fault too," Aramis whispers in a small, guilty voice. "I let him -" 

"No," Athos interrupts him. "You were drunk." 

"He was Melinda's fiancé," Aramis insists. "I should've -" 

"Aramis," Athos interrupts him again, his voice so very gentle that Porthos has to close his eyes for a moment. "You were a child; and I don't care how many partners you'd had at that point. It was his job to _protect_ you." 

"Listen to Athos," Porthos murmurs into Aramis' neck, feels the goose bumps form under his lips. "He's right, you know. If anyone ever tried anythin' like that with one of my kids, I'd kill 'em." 

"That's different," Aramis murmurs. "They're much younger than I was." 

"My kids don't stop bein' my kids once they leave the orphanage," Porthos informs him in a rough voice. His hand on Aramis' belly presses into the warm skin for a moment, holds him a little too tight. "He deserves a beatin' for what he did to you." 

"He does," Athos agrees, anger kindling the words and lending them warmth. He allows a moment of silence to pass, and continues far colder: "I feel inclined to follow him home and deliver that beating." 

Aramis promptly clings to him. "Please don't." 

"What?" Athos mocks gently. "You don't think I can take him? You would be surprised." 

"So would Andy," Porthos murmurs. "That's half the trick." 

"It was with Victor Gilbert," Athos agrees smoothly. 

The mention of the name revives Aramis to no little degree. "That was _differen't_! He'd _hurt_ Porthos! All Andy ever did was -" 

"Worse -" Porthos growls into his neck. "At least Victor didn't try to hide what he really was. He didn't show a smilin' face to the world and made it believe his lies. He was a jerk and a racist, but at least he was honest about it." 

Aramis opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it again. 

"That's right," Porthos says approvingly. "No more tryin' to come up with excuses, darlin'. You won't convince us that you're in any way to blame. Your Dad would give us a rare trimmin' if we did that." 

"I never saw him so angry," Aramis muses. "Even right after it happened he -" He bites his lip and closes his eyes. "I always thought he was disappointed with me." 

"I'm sure he wasn't," Porthos murmurs soothingly. 

"He never said anything," Aramis whispers. "Even when I had all that -" he stops, swallows convulsively. "… Even when I had so many girlfriends." 

"There you go," Athos says, his voice surprisingly smooth; but when Porthos looks into his eyes above Aramis' head, the expression in them is anything but cold. 

"Mom was the one who said that I should slow down, that I was going a little too fast," Aramis says, his voice detached, far away. "So I tried - I really tried." 

He sounds utterly exhausted, so Porthos takes him by the shoulders and turns him around, looks into his eyes. "Everythin' your father said tonight tells me that he loves you, kitten – he always has and he always will, and the same is true for the rest of your family. You can blame yourself all you wanna – they don't, not even a little. If anythin' they blame themselves for not protectin' you from that scumbag – it's what I would do." 

Aramis' eyes get a little wet during the last words, but the tears don't spill. "Dad did say that he blamed himself afterwards, but I thought he meant -" Once again he stops talking, pushes into Porthos' arms and hides his face against Porthos' chest. "I made such a mess of everything." 

"Hush, darlin'," Porthos whispers, holding him tightly. "You did the best you could." 

He watches Athos reach out, watches him put his hand on Aramis' shoulder and squeeze it gently. "Do you want me to get you another glass of scotch?" 

"What, you want him to get shitfaced?" Porthos growls. "No way!" 

Unexpectedly, Aramis giggles. "It really is a bad idea, Athos – but thank you all the same." Then he freezes. "I never asked you if you wanted this." 

Porthos has to bite down on a groan. These sudden mood-swings are getting somewhat exhausting. 

"Wanted what?" Athos asks, befuddled. 

"I never even asked you if you were comfortable with coming to bed with us," Aramis replies in a guilt-ridden voice. "You should have said no!" 

Athos sighs in the manner of a man tested beyond the permissible. "Of course I wanted it, _muffin head_ ," he says gently, moving closer to Aramis from behind and sneaking an arm around his middle. "I need my cuddles after all." 

Aramis stiffens. "But you -" 

"Go to sleep," Athos orders, an impatient undertone to the words. "You are exhausted, and tired, and more than a little drunk, and I refuse to debate with you while you are in this state." 

Aramis remains stiff and silent, and Athos sighs. "Aramis, do you want me to leave?" 

"Of course not!" Aramis says indignantly. 

"So let me stay," is the fond reply. "I really want to, I promise." 

Aramis turns around so fast that he nearly loses his shorts in the process. "I'm sorry!" 

Athos smirks, and holds him tight. "I know. Now go to sleep." 

Porthos chuckles. "After all that excitement? Impossible!" He straightens Aramis' shorts, earning himself a squeak and a muffled word of gratitude, and pats Aramis' butt in a soothing manner. "You wanna watch some TV, love – or have Athos read to us?" 

Aramis is immediately in love with the second idea, Porthos can feel it. Still, he peeks up at Athos in a rather careful manner. 

Athos huffs. "I would love to, Aramis." 

Then he very carefully places a kiss on Aramis' forehead. Porthos is almost inclined to declare the day's more uncomfortable events an acceptable sacrifice for this development.


End file.
